


impendulo

by hereyeswerestars



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Deadpool (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Superfamily (Marvel), not sure yet - Freeform, peter lives on a farm, possible sexual content, shuri educates peter in memeology, vet!shuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereyeswerestars/pseuds/hereyeswerestars
Summary: *THIS STORY HAS NO RAPE* the tags are there for flashbacks, dreams, etc where peter remembers/relives his past , but there will be no new assualts/ graphic retellings (will update if this changes)so @pansley wrote an INCREDIBLE story in the a/b/o universe and man . it destroyed me but also made me feel whole ? & after reading the last updated chapter i just had this image in my head of peter on a farm , pressing his forehead against a horse and crying away his pain . and i just had to write it . so here's my continuation(?) of Asunder . enjoy !title is Xhosa (language spoke in Wakanda) for "the answer."if you wanna yell at me about tom holland's stupid face :my tumblr





	1. no hard feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pansley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansley/gifts).



> "i only wanted to have fun  
> learning to fly, learning to run  
> i let y heart decide the way  
> when i was young .  
> deep down i must have always known  
> that this would be inevitable  
> to earn my stripes i'd have to pay  
> and bear my soul ." - _million years ago, adele_

 

_It’s been five years._

 

Five years since the cataclysmic moment that tore Peter’s world in two, five years since the multiple, horrific rapes suffered at the hands of those he thought were his family.

 

Peter sits at his kitchen table, fingers interlaced in his lap.

 

Wade had come yesterday. They hadn’t talked much, just sat in the field, throwing a stick to Fluffy, his golden mutt. The man had given him… a number.

 

“If you want, call her. I think you two would be good for each other.”

 

And then he left, pressing an unusually affectionate kiss to Peter’s curly locks.

 

Now Peter stared at the card on the table. And made a choice.

 

 

***

 

“Hi, this is Shuri from Francois’ Animal Hospital. How can I help you?”

 

Peter froze. He hadn’t expected—what? For her to pick up an answer the phone like a decent human being? He thought of all the calls from various Avengers that he ignored and bit his lip. At least someone in this village was a decent fucking person.

 

“Hello? God, if this is another prank call I swear to God I will light your asses on fire and—“

 

“Woah, sorry no. it’s me. Um, I’m Peter.”

 

“Oh.” An embarrassed laugh floats through the silence, caressing Peter’s ears like music. “Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Shuri.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says. There’s an awkward beat of silence, and then both of them are talking at once.

 

“You get a lot of prank calls?”

 

“Is there an animal in need of assistance?”

 

Shuri laughs again, a beautiful sound. “Not from where I come from. But since moving here, yeah. People don’t like that a black Beta is taking care of their farm animals.”

 

“Oh.” Peter nods to himself, then realizes Shuri obviously can’t see him. “Um, yeah, my cow—she seems really uncomfortable right now, I try to milk her but she’s dry? If you could—“

 

“You want me to come by?” Shuri interrupts, and Peter can hear her smile.

 

“Yes!” Peter tries to keep the excitement from his voice, but it still sounds like a startled squawk.

 

Shuri giggles. “How does tonight at six sound?”

 

“Great,” Peter replies, voice somewhat under control but weirdly deep.

 

“Alright, see you then.”

 

“Bye,” Peter says. He stares at the screen until she ends the call. Well, shit. Now he has five hours to make his cow appear sick so Shuri doesn’t think he’s crazy.

 

 

-

 

At exactly six o’ clock there’s a soft knock at his door.

 

Peter curses and turns off the sink, wiping his hands on his jeans. He was hoping Shuri was like the other villagers—that is, always late—so he’d have time to at least finish the dishes.

 

He opens the door and stares. A stunning girl—no, _woman_ —stands there, smiling at him. Her thick hair is up in two adorable buns, her dark skin gleams in the sunlight, and her shirt says, “The name’s Bond. Ionic Bond.”

 

Peter bursts out laughing. “I love your shirt!”

 

“Just wait till you see the back,” she grins. She turns around.

 

“Taken, not shared,” he reads, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

 

“So, how are you, Peter?” She asks, hands in her jean pockets.

 

“Um—great! Yeah, I’m fine. Want to, um, come in?”

 

She shrugs. “That’s fine by me.”

 

Peter steps back to let her pass, and as she breezes inside her scent surrounds him, citrus-y and sweet, with a darker tang of something he doesn’t recognize.

 

“You want anything to drink? Or eat? I got juice, milk—well, running low on that actually—well water, and lots of snacks!”

 

Shuri shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks Pete.”

 

Peter freezes at the nickname. The last person to call him that had been Tony—

 

“Can I go see your cow?” Shuri asks, interrupting his dangerous train of thought.

 

“Of course! Follow me,” he says, smiling and hoping Shuri didn’t notice the flash of fear in his eyes.

 

He leads her out the back door and towards the barn. The afternoon sun envelops Peter in a warm embrace, and he pauses for a moment to let the heat sink in. He hasn’t thought of Mr. Stark all day, and the memories feel fragile and dusty, like forgotten porcelain in a locked-away attic.

 

He feel curious eyes on him, and suddenly a soft hand brushed his.

 

“You alright?” Shuri asks quietly.

 

Peter shakes himself, trying in vain to pull away from the cobwebs of the past.

 

“Sorry. Just—thinking,” Peter says, glancing to Shuri and immediately regretting it. Her dark eyes are full of concern, and she studies him in a way that feels both comforting and invasive.

 

“Blackie is in here,” he says, carefully stepping around cow shit as he opens the barn door.

 

Shuri steps inside, smiling. “Did a five-year old name her?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Peter responds. He follows her into the barn, inhaling the scent of fresh hay and happy animals. He knows Shuri is waiting for an explanation, but he isn’t ready to give one.

 

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready.

 

“So, she’s back here,” he says, when a huge ball of golden fluff launches itself at Peter, barking enthusiastically.

 

“Woah, calm down Fluffy! It’s just me and Shuri,” Peter smiles, kneeling to love on the ecstatic Retriever. “You lock yourself in here again?”

 

Shuri kneels beside him, and Fluffy beats his tail against the floor and shoves his nose into her hands.

 

“Sorry, that’s how he says hello. “I’ve been trying to get him to calm down around people, but it’s just me here, so...” He trails off with a shrug.

 

“Aw, you need some friends?” Shuri asks, rubbing Fluffy’s ears. He pants cheerfully, then flops down on his back so Shuri can rub his belly.

 

Peter nods, trying to hide how her casual question cuts. Fluffy has no friends because Peter has no friends. Well, except for Wade. But Peter isn’t really sure what their relationship is, not after what happened four years ago.

 

“Alright, show me Blackie,” Shuri says, standing and wiping her hands off on her faded jeans.

 

Peter leads her to the back of the barn, where all of the stalls stand empty except for one.

 

“Hey, Blackie,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to stroke her forelock. The cow leans into his touch, sniffing at his fingers, and sighs heavily when no apples or hay appear.

 

“Can I come in to examine her?” Shuri is studying the cow with the same expression she looked at Peter, concern and compassion and something else he can’t name all wrapped up in those beautiful eyes.

 

Peter nods and opens the stall door for her. Blackie steps back shyly, and Shuri slowly holds out her hand for the cow to sniff. She does, cautiously.

 

Peter watches in awe as Shuri quickly becomes best friends with his skittish cow. She strokes all along Blackie’s sides, neck, and back, slowly making her way down to her udder.

 

She frowns as she studies it, gently spreading the skin with her fingers.

 

“Okay, let’s get back inside,” she says, standing and patting Blackie’s neck. The cow lows softly as they leave, Fluffy running circles around Shuri, and Peter promises to be back soon with a treat.

 

They walk through the lush grass; the green shoots tickle Peter’s bare ankles and he shudders.

 

Once inside, he pulls out a chair for Shuri to sit. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

 

He opens the fridge and peers inside. Jeez. He’d have to go shopping soon—which meant going into town, which meant talking to people.

 

“What kind of juice do you have?” Shuri asks, washing her hands in the sink. Peter tears his eyes away from the hypnotic movements of her brown hands.

 

“We got orange juice, strawberry lemonade, apple...” He shrugs. “That’s all I got, sorry. I gotta go to town soon and fill up.”

 

“Orange juice is fine,” she smiles.

 

He pours two glasses of orange juice and meets her at the table.

 

Shuri takes a sip and nods. “Good shit. You bought this?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “When I have time, I make my own. Which is all the time—“ He cuts himself off before Shuri thinks he’s a miserable hermit. Which she probably already does.

 

“Why am I here?” Shuri asks, and Peter freezes.

 

“Um, my cow—“ he tries to explain, blushing furiously.

 

“Your cow is not pregnant, and hasn’t been for some time. What kind of vet do you take me for?” Shuri raises a brow at him, but she doesn’t appear angry, just… curious.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, scratching at his neck. “I just—blanked and wanted to talk to you but then you asked if my animals were alright and Blackie was on my mind and my friend tried to hook me up with you—“ he stopped for breath and flushed to his ears. “Shit, not like that, just to get me a friend because he thinks I’m a miserable hermit who should be doing something with his life.” Peter closed his mouth, looking at the floor. Wade had never actually told him that, but Peter knew he thought it. Everyone did, poor Peter Parker who couldn’t get over his sad little life and bitterly refused any help.

 

“Wanna look at memes?”

 

Peter rears his head up, stunned. “Wha—what?”

 

“Memes. Please tell me you know what those are. You have a phone, right?”

 

“Uh…” Peter shrugs, misery forgotten as he blushes. “I gave it away. Someone needed it more than me.”

 

Shuri sighs and shakes her head. “You, mfowethu, need to be educated. Come on.” She walks to his squishy grandma couch and plops down on the center, patting the cushion beside her.

 

Peter sits down slowly, highly aware of the two inches separating his thigh from Shuri’s. Fluffy jumps up to snuggle against Peter’s side, and he strokes the dog’s golden fur absent-mindedly.

 

“Do you have Tumblr?”

 

Peter’s blank stare is all the answer she needs. But instead of groaning or rolling her eyes, her whole face lights up in a slightly-evil smile.

 

“You’re innocent! Yes!” she punches the air with her fist and whips out her phone. “You better laugh at my memes,” she adds, smile quickly turning stern.

 

Peter nods quickly, still not at all sure what memes are. Before, Aunt May couldn’t afford a fancy phone for Peter, and after… he didn’t like spending time on the Internet. Too many ghosts.

 

“Here. Just scroll down, and prepare to pee your pants.”

 

Peter laughs nervously. “I’d rather not,” he says, but he takes the phone and starts reading the strange fonts. Two seconds, later, he bursts out laughing.

 

“Look at this!” he shoves the phone in Shuri’s face, and she blinks before laughing with him. (“solid, liquid, gas—they all matter.”)

 

“Like you,” she smiles.

 

Peter shrugs, shoulders tightening and chin tucking to his chest. He turns his gaze back to the phone, trying to ignore the way Shuri’s friendly stare brings a flush to his cheeks.

 

They end up spending nearly an hour on this phenomenon affectionately called “Tumblr,” and Peter can’t remember when he’d laughed as hard as he had with Shuri. But eventually, Shuri’s phone buzzes and she has to go.

 

“Hey, thanks for—um, hanging out?” Peter says, not really sure what to call their time together.

 

“Anytime,” Shuri smiles.

 

He walks her to the door, torn between relief she didn’t bring up Blackie and determination to apologize to her one last time.

 

“Sorry about, um,” Peter starts, scratching the back of his neck and smiling sheepishly.

 

Shuri flaps a dismissive hand at him, smirking. “Don’t worry about it. People call me about definitely not pregnant cows all the time.”

 

“Sure,” he replies, rolling his eyes. He opens the door for Shuri, but she catches him by surprise—

Suddenly the girl is standing on her tippy-toes, strong arms enveloping him in a warm embrace.

 

He stands frozen, arms awkwardly at his sides, before melting into her touch: arms come up to pull Shuri flush to him, shoulders sag and chin comes to rest on a thin shoulder.

 

They stand like that for a long time. Shuri tells herself it’s because Peter needs it—but she needs it too, if for entirely different reasons.

 

“Alright. I’ll see you around, Peter?”

 

Shuri pulls away, trailing a finger down his arm before quickly turning and walking into the night, a proud queen greeting the stars like old friends.

 

“Bye,” Peter calls softly. He watches her get into her blue pick-up, then shakes himself and closes the door. “Wow.”

 

He grabs the half-empty juice glasses on the table and drains his, then placed them both in the sink to be washed later.

 

He glances at the clock above the kitchen sink—nearly eight. He’d spent two hours with Shuri! It felt like five minutes. It felt like he’d known her his whole life, yet she was blessedly separate from It—the year where his whole life when to shit. (Yes, for Peter a scary-ass clown and the most horrible things that ever happened to him are on the same scale.)

 

Alright, Blackie, here comes your treat, he tells himself, rummaging in the fridge for a few carrots and then grabbing a dog bone from the cupboard. He tosses it to Fluffy, who grins at him before taking it onto the couch to gnaw.

 

He’s opening the backdoor when a soft knock meets his ears. “The fuck is that,” he mutters. He strides to the door and opens it, ready to yell at whoever would dare interrupt a poor farmer at this ungodly hour to solicit or some other shit.

 

“Hi,” Shuri says, wincing at the shocked look on Peter’s face. “Sorry to bother you, my car won’t start.”

 

“Shit,” Peter frowns, hands on his hips. “Do you want a ride into town— _shit_. Lucy’s transmission’s down. The parts don’t come in until tomorrow.”

 

“Oh.” Peter’s heart breaks at the disappointment in Shuri’s eyes.

 

“You can stay here, if you want,” Peter says, opening the door wider and ushering her inside.

 

“I don’t want to be in the way,” she protests, even as she steps over the threshold.

 

“Well, you aren’t walking home.”

 

Shuri shrugs. “It’s only twenty minutes.”

 

“By car! It would take you hours to get there on foot!”

 

“I’m a fast runner,” Shuri retorts, mischief in her eyes.

 

Peter sighs and rubs his face.

 

“Tired, old man?” She teases.

 

“No,” he scowls, immediately standing straighter, blinking furiously to wake himself up. “Wanna watch a movie or something? Or I can show you where you can sleep, I’ve got like fifty rooms…”

 

Shuri nods. “Let’s explore! This house is so cool,” she sighs, admiring the ancient furniture and oak beams crisscrossing the ceiling.

 

“For a grandma’s house, sure,” Peter replies, rolling his eyes. He opens a wooden door and Shuri walks through. “This is my room. You can stay here, if you want. But I wouldn’t be here. Obviously.” Peter turns bright red and grimaces at his inability to talk to pretty girls.

 

“It’s nice.” Shuri takes in the cream-colored sheets on the bed, the empty walls and dresser. It feels impersonal, like a liminal space: like it’s a house for Peter, but not a home.

 

Peter nods shortly and walks out. “Next door is the guest room, where you can stay.”

 

It’s got the same hollow feeling, and the way Peter shifts on his feet and bites his lip it’s clear he’s waiting for old ghosts to climb out from under the bed or through the fogged-up window.

 

“No pictures,” Shuri murmurs to herself, but of course Peter hears.

 

He shrugs, body language casual but the skin around his eyes tightening, warm brown eyes suddenly faraway.

 

“Got nobody to take them with.” He doesn’t tell her about the camera stuffed in his closet, the undeveloped pictures flung into the fireplace.

 

He shows her the rest of the house, an office, a cellar, and several rooms upstairs that make his jaw clench and brow furrow. Shuri yawns dramatically and asks if they can watch something, and Peter snaps out of his reverie.

 

They sit on the floral cushions, closer this time, and Peter makes some pun about couch potatoes. Halfway through the third episode of Friends, Shuri falls asleep. Her chin is nestled on the crook between Peter’s neck and shoulder, her legs tucked underneath her. Fluffy is on his other side, a mustard-yellow blanket draped over the unlikely trio.

 

Peter looks at her under the corner of his eye, careful not to move his neck. How the hell did this happen?

 

Damn you, Wade. Peter doesn’t need another lost girl to take care of.

 

 

 

***

 

“Hey my favorite kitty! I gotta favor to ask ya. Huge. like, bigger than Wakanda.”

 

Shuri stares at him, unimpressed.

 

“Will you do it? Pretty please with a strawberry on top?”

 

“Cherry,” Shuri corrects, crossing her arms and raising a perfect eyebrow at the masked man.

 

“Is that Wakandan for yes?”

 

Shuri rolls her eyes. “It’s cherry on top. Not strawberry. Get your metaphors straight.”

 

“I’m having a hard time being straight,” he wails, throwing gloved hands in the air.

 

“Christ, just tell me what you want,” Shuri groans, falling into a swivel chair and absent-mindedly toying with her Kimoyo bracelet.

 

“So, I got this friend. Peter. He’s kinda lonely. Bad shit happened to him, and he’s trying to move on.”

 

Shuri frowns. “Why me? Why can’t you help him?”

 

“Because this bitch is busy!” Wade exclaims, hands on his hips. “America still has a long way to go before becoming one hundred percent Omega friendly. And you’re bored, you said so yourself! Just take a fancy-ass plane and spend a few weeks in Canada! You could use a friend too, I think.”

 

Shuri scowls. “I don’t need friends. I have this.” She gestures to the lab surrounding them, the Black Panther suits glowing behind thick glass screens, next year’s scientific advances cluttered on desks, T’Challa’s ugly-ass sandals kicked off by the door.

 

“And you’ll have it in Canada! Come on, girl, have you ever been anywhere besides here? Have you even been to the Western side of the earth?”

 

“I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens when black people come to North America,” Shuri frowns. “I think I’m good.”

 

Wade shrugs. “Alright. I’ll tell Peter you said hello.”

 

He waves cheekily (Shuri can barely read his expression behind his mask, but she’s sure he’s wearing the Deadpool grin) and ambles to the door, trailing his fingers along every possible surface.

 

“Wait,” Shuri calls, scrambling off her chair. “Your friend Peter… is he _this_ Peter?” She taps at her beads, tongue between her teeth. A moment later, a holographic video of Spider-Man kicking down a facility door, Deadpool behind him, hovers over her wrist.

 

Now Shuri _knows_ Wade is grinning underneath the spandex.

 

“Yup! But since all your robots will miss you too much, I guess you’ll never meet the infamous Peter Parker.” He opens the door and swaggers out.

 

“Goddammit! Fine, Wilson!” Shuri swears under her breath and chases him out of the lab. “This is the last time you’re asking favors of me! Or stealing in my lab!”

 

“I just borrowed the claws. Promise I’ll give them back… never!”

 

Deadpool’s cackling laughter floats down the hall, and Shuri swears again as she whirls around. The hall is empty—he’s gone.

 

 _Goddammit_. Shuri has a call to make. And a boy to save.


	2. a bed of roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "bein' a superhero's no bed of roses."

“How’d you sleep?”

Shuri pads into the kitchen, hiding her yawn behind a small hand. “Pretty good, actually. I like it here. It’s quiet.” 

Peter nods and gestures to the kitchen table, laden with food. “I, um, made breakfast. And I wasn’t sure what you liked so… I made everything. Want some coffee? Wade says I’ve gotten really good at making it.” 

Shuri sits down, eyes wide and expression unreadable as she takes in the piles of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, pancakes, and other white people delicacies. “This is great, Peter. Thank you. And coffee would be nice.” 

He smiles shyly, glowing at her praise, and busies himself at the counter, fussing with an ancient coffee pot. 

“So, what do you do out here? I mean, besides take care of your animals and pretend your cows are pregnant.” 

“That was one time!” Peter cries, whirling around and glaring at her. 

“Well, your charade worked. I spent the night.” 

Peter chokes on the coffee he had just taken a sip of. “I was not trying to sleep with you! I just—wanted a friend,” he admits, looking away from her smile and turning back to the counter. 

Shuri scoops some strawberries onto her plate, smile going sad. “Me too.” 

He came back to the table, trying valiantly to hide his surprise as he hands her a cup of coffee. He sits in the chair opposite her and fiddles with the hem of his flannel. “Anyway, to answer your question: I spend a lot of time doing “nothing.” Going on walks with Fluffy, reading under that old tree out in the meadow, renovating the farm. And then I volunteer at the Omega safe house whenever I can. There are always people who need my help.” _And I can’t help them the way I wanted to, five years ago._

Shuri wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “That’s so cool. Do you think… maybe I could come with you sometime? To the safe house?” 

Peter drops his fork on the way to his mouth and turns scarlet. He scrambled to pick it up, nearly tipping over the entire table in his haste. 

Shuri giggles, and after half a moment Peter laughs too. “I’m sorry. I’m just a fucking mess,” he sighs, carding a hand through his messy curls. 

Shuri serves herself some eggs. “So is everyone else. Yeah, some people hide it better, but everyone’s got shit going on that they can’t fix—or just don’t know how to. And that’s okay.” 

Peter takes a sip of his coffee to keep from having to reply to that. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes, sunlight from the open windows warm on Peter’s back and birdsong drifting through; nature’s lullaby. 

There’s a knock at the door and Peter jumps. “It’s the parts for my truck!” He rushes to the door, waves at the back of the retreating delivery man, and drags the Amazon box inside. 

“I didn’t realize you knew what Amazon was,” Shuri jokes, watching from the table as he opens the box like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. 

“Just because I don’t have a phone doesn’t mean I’m living under a rock,” he scowls, meeting her laughing eyes. “Wanna help me fix Lucy?”

“How could I deny help to a car named Lucy?” she drains her coffee and takes her empty plate to the sink. “Should I wash these, or…” she trails off and gestures to their dirty dishes. 

“Oh--no, it’s fine, I can do that later.” 

He picks up the Amazon box and walks out the front door, Shuri following. 

“So what was wrong with your car?” She asks, breathing in the sweet morning air. 

“Oh, Lucy’s transmission died.” Peter pops the hood of his blue truck and frowns. “You know, I’ve never actually done this before.” 

Shuri walks to his side and peers at the truck’s organs. “You don’t just--i don’t know, take out the old one and stick the new one in?” 

Peter shrugs. “I’m much better with rewiring Wade’s fart bombs or changing the molecular density of a spiderweb. Tony was the one—” he cuts himself off, pursing his lips. But Shuri is watching him with those gentle browns eyes, so he takes a deep breath, cards fingers through his messy curls, and smiles. 

“Let’s figure it out.” 

So the unlikely duo spends half an hour googling how to fix a dead transmission, with little success. (Maybe Peter’s pretending he doesn’t know how to use Shuri’s phone so he can spend more time with her. He’ll never tell.)

“You know what, I think we just have to take both of our trucks to a garage,” Shuri sighs, sticking her phone into her back pocket. “Jesus, three degrees and I have no idea how to fix a stupid transmission. Or my own truck.” 

Peter turns from Lucy to gape at her. “You have three degrees? You’re like, twenty!”

“Twenty-one,” Shuri grins. “Back in Wakanda, I had access to the best technology and teachers in the world. So I have three degrees in the sciencey shit, as well as a doctor of veterinary medicine. It’s really fun, being here and helping animals out.”

“You’re so cool,” Peter gushes. “I just… wow. I’m glad you’re here.” 

She smiles up at him, and they look at each other for a moment before Peter clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Um, I’m going to go inside so I can call the repair shop and see if they can pick up my truck. Do you want me to ask about yours, too?” 

Shuri nods. “That would be great.”

Peter ambles inside and grabs the house phone off its dock, then thumbs through the folder next to it. When he had first moved to the farmhouse, Nat had helped him settle in and given him a notebook with numbers to call— the vet, the emergency room, and the auto shop. He skipped past the pages with too-familiar writing, heart catching in his throat. He can’t help himself; he goes back to the page Natasha had labeled “emergency contacts,” eyes scanning the page for that one notorious scrawl. 

‘Kid—call if you ever need anything. I miss you, and I’m sorry. Tony.’

***

“How come you don’t have horses?” Shuri asks, interrupting the sound of birdsong and leaves shifting and Fluffy panting beside her: the two are sitting under the oak tree in the meadow behind his house, Peter leaning against the gnarled trunk and absently plucking at grass, Shuri cuddling Fluffy since he tired of playing fetch.  
Peter shrugs and meets her eyes. “Just never got around to it, I guess. Blackie and a few goats and chickens have been enough for me.” 

“Ah.” they’re quiet for a while longer, and then Shuri clears her throat and stands up. “Well, I know a guy whose farm is struggling. He’s got too many horses, and his husband wants him to give some away so they can focus on their kids.” 

Shuri offers her hand to help Peter stand and he takes it, and to his surprise, she doesn’t let go right away. 

“You don’t have to say yes, of course. I can ask some other clients. I’d take them myself, but you can’t exactly fit a full-grown horse in a one bedroom apartment so—”

“Yeah.” Peter nods and smiles at Shuri. 

“What?” She blinks at him, not expecting him to accept her offer.

“I think having horses would be fun. As long as you stick around and help me,” he grins.

“Yes! Of course, thank you Peter!” she laughs and hugs him tightly. 

He hugs her back and closes his eyes. So this is what having a friend feels like. 

*** 

Several hours later, Peter and Shuri’s trucks are both getting fixed at the auto shop so Peter drops her off at work and then heads home. He feeds Blackie and the two goats, Puppy and Belle, then checks on the chickens, Fluffy following cheerfully. 

Once the farmwork is done, he lets Blackie and the goats into their pasture and sits on the fence, Fluffy laying beside him and chewing on something he’d rather not know the nature of. 

Finally, he lets himself think about the day’s events. Wade was right— Shuri was beautiful, a warm presence in his frozen mind, an angel sent from heaven to chase away the demons always lurking in his thoughts. She was goodness in a world where Peter lost hope in ever finding something good ever again. 

Rain began to fall, and Peter turned his face up to the gray skies and let the water stream down his face like tears. Fluffy barked at the rain, then at Peter, and when the boy ignored his protests he dashed across the field to where Blackie and the goats stood huddled under the trees. 

Peter closed his eyes. It hadn’t rained in the village for a few weeks, and the soothing water on his face, the roll of distant thunder, reminded him of another time he had stood in the rain and let the water wash away his sins.  
***

Four and a half years ago

Sand shifted beneath his feet. He studied the horizon without noticing it; the gray-blue water melting into the blue-gray sky. 

“Peter!” a voice called. He didn’t turn around. He relished the way the freezing water lapped at his ankles, the incredible strength and softness of the ocean. 

“Peter, what are you doing? It’s freezing out here. Let’s go rob a bakery or some shit and eat all their maple bars. Fuck, now I really want a maple bar.” 

Peter turned to Wade, who was shivering dramatically in his civilian clothes, mask nowhere to be seen. 

“We should start a safe house,” he said quietly. 

“What? I can’t hear you over the sound of my toes freezing to death.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and walked back up the beach, Wade following. 

“We should start a safe house,” he said, once they had reached Wade’s car. (a police car he’d “borrowed” a year ago and spray-painted pink.)

“For who? Orphaned kittens? Rape survivors? Those maple bars I’m gonna chew to death?”

 

That startled a laugh out of Peter, and he shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat. “For the Omega survivors we rescue.”

Wade nodded, a grin spreading over his face. “That’s a great idea, Pete.”

He turned on the car and started blasting 80s classics. 

Peter leaned back in his seat and sighed contently. That was the thing he loved about Wade--even if it frustrated the hell out of Peter, he never let him disrespect himself. The first time he’d called the innocent Omegas they rescued “victims,” Wade had quickly shaken his head.

“Nuh uh,” he said, pulling off his mask and piercing Peter’s soul with the intensity of his stare. “You don’t call yourself, or any other people who get put in shitty situations victims. Your past doesn’t define you. You, and all those Omegas we save are survivors.” 

***

 

“Peter? Hey, Peter!” 

Peter jumps, jolted out of his flashback and back to the present. He jumps off the fence and turns around. 

“Holy shit. Clara!” he cries, jumping over the fence and running into her arms. 

The brunette holds him just as tightly, pressing her face against his shoulder. 

“What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you guys in months!” he pulls away slightly, hands resting on her shoulders. 

“You didn’t answer my emails, dickface. I told you we were coming this weekend like a month ago.” 

She punches him in the chest, gently. 

“Ow.” 

“Anyways, what are you doing sitting out in the rain? It’s cold.”

“It’s Canada,” he retorts. “It’s supposed to be cold.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Jerk.” 

They tease each other on the way to the farmhouse, Fluffy following ecstatically and jumping on Clara. 

“I missed you too, bud. Guess what? Your best friend is here!” 

As they round the corner of the house, a little girl runs up the driveway and tackles Peter’s legs. 

“Daddy!” She shrieks. 

“Hey, Evie,” he says, ruffling her short hair. But panic rises in his throat like bile. “Does she know?” he mouths to Clara. 

The brunette shakes her head. “I’ll explain later.” 

A young woman follows Eve, blowing at a strand of blonde hair that falls into her face as she struggles with a heavy suitcase.

“Hey--let me help you with that!” Peter scoops Eve up into his arms, much to her ecstatic delight, and rushes to grab the woman’s suitcase. 

“Thanks, Pete,” she smiles. 

He leads the women into the farmhouse, Eve still clinging to him like a monkey. 

“Evie, why don’t you help Mari with the rest of our stuff? Me and Peter will start dinner.” 

Peter sets Eve down and tussles her hair. “You cut it?” Last time he had seen the little family, Eve’s reddish-brown hair had been past her shoulders. Now it was boyishly short and sticking up all over the place. 

“She wanted to be like you,” Mari smiles. Peter’s mouth goes dry. 

Eve doesn’t notice the fire and ice warring in Peter’s stomach and runs to Mari’s side. “BRB!” she calls, grabbing the blonde’s hand and yanking her out the door. 

“Clara—” Peter starts, turning to her with fear in his eyes. “She can’t know, I can’t—” 

“Peter, it’s okay.” She sits down in the chair Shuri had been in mere hours ago, patting the seat beside her. 

He frowns and sits. 

“She doesn’t know anything, it’s just… Some kids made fun of her at school for having two moms, not having a “daddy.” She punched the kid in the face—broke his nose—and said her daddy was you. I mean, she doesn’t know yet how becoming a parent works. But we haven’t told her anything.”

“She can’t know,” Peter insists, hazel eyes boring into Clara’s. “She can’t.” 

Clara nods, lips pursed. “Okay. but she’ll find out someday.” 

“I know. Just… I’m not ready to tell her,” he sighs. 

“I understand.” She lays her hand on the table between them, and he takes it. The soft squeeze has been an anchor through years of trying to get past trauma. Peter knows that out of the few people he counts as friends (and he can count them on one hand) Clara is the only one who truly understands. 

“So. Wade or Ned hook you up with any new girls?” 

“No!” Peter scowls, pulling his hand away. “Well, actually…” Shuri’s smile swims into his mind, and he shrugs. 

“Oh my God! What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

“God, she’s beautiful,” Peter gushes, knowing he sounds like a love-struck fool and not caring. “Her name is Shuri, and she’s a vet tech in the village.”

“Aw, she sounds wonderful. You should invite her ice skating!” 

“Ice skating?” Peter demands, right as Marigold and Eve walk in carrying backpacks and grocery bags. 

“We brought food!” Eve grins, bounding up to Peter and dumping a grocery bag in his lap with enough force to break his chair. 

“Woah, easy, tiger,” he laughs. He stands and takes the bags from Eve and Mari. “What’s this about ice skating?” 

Eve jumps up and down. “I love ice skating!” 

“We invited Wade to come by tomorrow and he’s bringing Vanessa and Ellie. Call it a family reunion.” 

Peter’s heart jumps to his throat. He had a family. Not a superfamily, like the Avengers, where everyone was an Alpha male and the only ones who hadn’t raped him were the two redheads and the robot. No, this was a different kind of family, built on love and trust and the Avengers may have that for each other but Peter didn’t know if he could have that for them. 

“Can we have pizza now?” 

Peter startles out of his reverie to smile down at Eve. “Let’s do it.”  
An hour later, the sun had begun his descent to the other side of the world, seeking the lonely horizon so his lover may glow in the darkening sky. 

Peter stares out the window. Someone touches his shoulder, and he flinches. 

“Hey. You with us?” 

He blinks and rubs his nose. “Yeah, sorry. Just—out of it, lately.” he smiles weakly at Clara. 

Clara nods, understanding wordlessly. “Have you been to the shelter recently?” 

Peter’s mouth twists downwards. “No.” 

Clara opens her mouth to say something and Eve jumps on her leg, clinging like a spider. Peter’s eyes widen. 

“Pizza!” The five-year-old yells, climbing up Clara’s thigh. 

“Yes, pizza. Does Mari need help?” 

Eve shrugs, smiling guiltily. 

“Go help your mother,” Clara sighs, clicking her tongue. 

Eve scampers off to the kitchen, and Clara turns back to Peter. 

“Please, don’t,” he says. She watches him silently. “I just—it’s been five years. Five years, and I’m still just as fucked up as I was the first day it happened.” 

Clara holds out her hand, and he takes it immediately, squeezing as hard as he can without hurting her. The touch brings him back to reality, grounds him. He bites the inside of his cheek, memories rumbling inside his head. 

“The flashbacks are getting worse. I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, words coming out before he could stop them. 

“You have people you can talk to, Peter. You’re not alone.” Clara covers their clasped hands with her left and nods resolutely. “You can always come back to America, with us. New York, Brook—”

“No!” Peter half-shouts, yanking his hand away from Clara and stumbling into the table. His eyes are wide and frantic. “I’m never going back there. Never.” 

“Daddy? What’s wrong?” 

Eve walks up to Peter, holding a personal-sized pizza fresh out of the oven. 

He stares at her, not seeing the too-familiar child with the messy brown curls and pale skin. “I--I have to go,” he stammers out, and runs from the room. 

Mari finds Peter on the roof, sitting on the cold shingles and staring at the darkening sky, an indigo curtain with holes that reveal light from another galaxy, another world. 

“Hi,” she says softly, so as not to startle him. He jumps anyways, and laughs at himself. “Spider-sense is always tingling now. I just ignore it.” 

“Can I sit?” 

Peter shrugs, gestures to the shingles beside him. “Go ahead.” He braces himself for a pep talk, a story about some trial Mari’s faced that won’t be as worse as Peter’s that’s somehow supposed to make him feel better. 

But she just sits, and pulls a cigarette pack out of her jacket pocket. “Want one?”

“You still smoke?” he demands, surprised. “I thought Clara hated it.”

“She does. It’s why I’m out here. She doesn’t want Eve getting second-hand.” 

“Why are you here?” 

Mari lights up and takes a long drag, blowing the white smoke in a cloud against the pulsing black sky. “To smoke.” she looks over at him and smiles wryly. 

“No, here. With me in Canada. With Clara and Eve. Why did you pick this life, this family?” he did it—he admitted they were family. Mari’s blue eyes softened. 

“You know the answer to that.” 

They sat for a long time, Peter staring up at the stars and Mari flicking ash of her cigarette. 

“Can I have one?” he asks suddenly, turning to her. Mari grins. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

***

Peter eventually comes back into the house, Mari following. They both smell like cigarette smoke, and Clara wrinkles her nose and tells them both to shower. Eve jumps into Peter’s arms, shouting excitedly. 

“I ate all the pizza! You don’t get any!” she giggles, beaming. 

“Oh no,” Peter groans, staggering under her weight. “I’m so hungry!” 

“We can make more!” she wriggles out of Peter’s hold and dashes to the kitchen. 

“You two can eat once you don’t smell,” Clara says, hands on her hips. 

Mari and Peter share a smile, and Mari heads to the guest bedroom. Peter walks up the creaky stairs to his bedroom, remembering just yesterday when he gave Shuri a full tour. Speaking of Shuri, he’d like to invite her to go ice skating tomorrow. “Just be normal,” he tells himself, flipping on his room lights. He grabs his laptop off the bed and sits there for a second. “Okay, mental list.” 

One of the things the counselor had told him to do when he felt overwhelmed or stressed was to make a list of everything he needed to do. He stopped seeing the counselor, and he always feels overwhelmed and stressed, but he’s found it does help sometimes to make a list. 

“Shower, get dressed, eat, hang out with Eve, talk to Clara, ask Shuri about tomorrow…” he feels the stress build behind his eyes and groans, slamming the laptop shut. “Get it together, Parker,” he tells himself, head in his hands. 

He tells himself to get up, but he just can’t, he can’t even open his mouth to cry for help and he’s drowning without even touching water—

“Peter?” 

The twenty year-old jumps for the umpteenth time that day, whipping his head around to face the door. His expression melted into relief as he met the man’s warm brown eyes. “Wade,” he breathes, and runs into Deadpool’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> definitely didn't spend two hours on tumblr looking up stupid science puns ... 
> 
> some that didn't make the cut :  
> *picture of a gnome with "gene" on his nametag*  
> Genome!  
> "do you know what Sin City is?" "Yeah that's Las Vegas" "well do you know what Den City is?" "no" "mass over volume"
> 
> dictionary i'm using for the Xhosa : http://sabelo.tripod.com/dictionary.htm
> 
> leave a comment and i'll give you a beautiful word ! 
> 
> xoxo star :)


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